


They Have To Take You In

by ciaan



Series: timetravelverse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canonical Character Death, Dubious Consent, M/M, Pre-Canon, Season/Series 03-04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-08
Updated: 2010-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciaan/pseuds/ciaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who is this crazy man in Dean's room, and what's happened to his little brother? Dean POV version of the time travel fic. Written January 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Have To Take You In

Dean startles awake when something thumps against the side of his bed. He'd been dreaming something about fish swimming in trees, and it fades away as he blinks. "Sammy?" he asks, sitting up and turning the light on.

It's not his little brother.

There's a man leaning against the side of Dean's bed, looking haggard and psychotic. At least, Dean thinks it's a man, he's definitely physical rather than a ghost, but he might be something else. Dean reaches under his pillow for his knife, gaze flicking past the man's shoulder to Sammy's bed, which is empty, the sheet thrown aside.

It only takes a second for Dean to examine the rest of the room, door still locked from the inside, windows shut, salt lines undisturbed, bathroom dark. Nothing's missing or moved except his brother. His hand closes around the hilt of the knife as he calculates his chances of making it across the room and to the guns in the duffel by the dresser.

Dean's full attention returns to the man's face, and he stops moving or even thinking. Those hungry red-rimmed eyes are the same shape and angle as Sammy's, and the snub nose, the long dirty hair...

"Dean," the man says, voice raw. He glances around quickly and then leans in, his hand reaching out toward Dean's face.

"Dude," Dean comments inanely, "you stink. How long have you been drunk?" Even from here he can smell the alcohol and BO of a long bender.

"Dean," the man repeats, and then grabs Dean's chin. His tone is disbelieving, like someone who's just seen a ghost for the first time, but he's staring like Dean's the perfect dessert.

The man doesn't even flinch as Dean pulls the knife out and presses it to his throat. "Where's my Sammy?"

It doesn't make any sense. This man looks so much like Sammy. But even if Sammy grew up overnight he wouldn't be so drunk and crazy, would he? And if it's something else, why isn't it doing a better job of pretending to be Sammy?

"Two hours," the man says with a cough. "He'll be back in two hours and I'll be gone. You'll be..." He trails off.

If Dean can believe that statement then Sammy's okay and he'll be back soon. But the man is talking as if he's replacing Sammy, as if it's an interchangeable switch.

"What the hell is going on, anyway?" Dean can't figure it out, can't even hold the knife steady as he tries to run through the options. The man reaches up and grasps Dean's wrist, pulling his arm out to the side and twisting, fingers finding the pressure points Dad's shown them. Dean loses his grip and the knife slides away from him. The man's hand is strong and implacable, huge around Dean's wrist. After Dean drops the knife the man keeps holding on, gentle now, still staring. Dean stares back. "Sammy?" he asks quietly, to check it out. He can't believe it.

"It's Sam," the man answers.

It's crazy. That's his little brother? Or who his little brother will be? Come back in time somehow, something like that? "You're, like, a grown-up. I bet you don't even get carded." Dean screws his mouth up, trying to think. "I wish Dad was here, he'd know what to do. I don't-"

The man starts laughing, the sound of it hollow and hopeless. He pitches forward and wraps his arms tight around Dean, almost choking him, pressing his face into Dean's neck. Now the laughter turns to sobs, huge gasps and hot wet tears.

Dean still doesn't know what to do. This man - Sammy - Sam - his brother - needs him. That's the only clear fact in all this confusion, and that's all Dean needs to know. Dean puts his arms around the man's broad shoulders, runs his hands down the firm back under the filthy brown jacket, rubs through the sweaty strands of hair. Sammy used to cry like this sometimes when he was smaller, when Dad would weed out his toys or when other kids would ask him where his mom was. Dean wrinkles up his nose. This isn't quite like that, actually, this is more like how Dad used to get around Mom's birthday.

Finally the man quiets and his grip loosens a little.

"What happened to you?" Dean asks. He wants to know how to make this better.

The whispered answer makes Dean's stomach drop. "Nothing. Nothing. But it should have. It should have been me."

Dean forces himself to sound calm. "I can make you some coffee." He pulls out of reach and stands up. The air of the room is cold on his bare legs. His mind whirls. He can do the math. This grown-up Sammy is somewhere in his mid-twenties.

So Dean's not going to make it much past thirty. He's already lived half his life.

He's barely aware of filling the coffee maker and turning it on. He leans against the desk, sharp wooden edge gouging into his palms.

Dying isn't the worst part. The worst part is knowing that he'll fail. He has one job in the world and that's to take care of his brother. But if Dean's dead, who's going to watch out for Sammy? No one, clearly. Probably Dad and most of the people they know are also dead. Sammy's going to end up like this, a psycho drunk who hasn't showered or slept or eaten much in weeks. Sunken cheeks, puffy red eyes, dirt everywhere and that wild expression that says he's ready to die too.

Sammy's gonna end up like that and there's nothing Dean can do for him.

Finally the coffee's ready and Dean pours it into a mug. The man - Sammy - Sam - he's standing up and standing close as Dean turns. He wraps his hands over Dean's and lifts the mug up to take a sip, drawing Dean's arms along with him. Then he moves closer, pushing Dean a step back and spilling hot coffee over their hands. Dean sucks in a breath. The mug is yanked out of his grasp and tossed to the floor.

Dean stares up at this Sam. He can see the signs of Sammy's face, but the man's so different otherwise, a giant. He's tall, way taller than Dean, taller than Dad. Even under the loose jacket and the baggy jeans it's obvious how impressively built he is, how much muscle he has. Dean wonders if he's going to grow like that himself. He damn sure hopes so.

His brother presses a hand to Dean's chest, looking at Dean like he wants to eat him up. Then he actually does it. He grabs Dean's hair and yanks his head back, making Dean's eyes water, and his mouth fastens on Dean's throat, stubble rubbing, biting and sucking and licking. It hurts and Dean can't help making a little sound of protest. He tries to pull away but he's held too strongly.

Hands move all over Dean's body, touching and exploring every part of him, and it's too deliberate, too insane. It can't possibly be what he thinks it is. The teeth dig deeper into his neck, almost like they're about to break the skin. A jolt of pleasure runs down his spine. Dean tries to shut it out and not totally freak.

That mouth moves up and meets his and Dean does freak. There are teeth on his bottom lip and a hot tongue forcing its way into his mouth, filling it up all strong and wet and bitter, then pulling him out and sucking hard on his own tongue.

Dean almost chokes in shock when he's slammed back against the wall, arms stretched in a tight grip high above his head, and there's a huge body pressed against him, a leg digging in between his, and -

A hard dick against his stomach.

A tongue still in his mouth.

Shit.

Dean's never thought about sex with his little brother, the one who's still a kid. He's never thought about sex with crazy stinking drunk men who throw him against the wall, either.

But this Sam is doing it and so it must be the way things are, what they do. It must be okay. He wouldn't do it otherwise.

Dean closes his eyes and stands there on his toes and lets his brother hump against him, jeans rough, lets him stick his tongue down Dean's throat, spit slick. He's still shivering from all the bites, and the fingers are tight around his wrists, and the friction and motion down there are starting to have an effect. Dean squeezes his eyes closed tighter and waits for his brother to be finished.

Instead he just stops. "Dean," he moans, a desperate question.

Dean realizes that he's failing here as well. He needs to give more, be more encouraging. Do something for Sam.

All he can do is rock forward to meet his brother, breathe the word "yeah" against his mouth and try to kiss him back. It works to get him moving again, his hips snapping sharper and harder and better against Dean, and Dean's definitely got it up now. "Oh fuck yeah," he whispers, a little more viscerally this time. Dean breathes deep, willing to be completely surrounded by his brother, letting himself float away on the repetitive motion and the sound of his name said over and over.

It's not long before his brother tenses up, gasping and moaning and bruising Dean back into the wall with his hips, then going limp against him. Dean's flooded with relief now that it's over, and he examines Sam's face, trying to see if he looks any happier. He's still grim and worn. Maybe there's a slight relaxing around his mouth but Dean thinks he's probably just imagining that.

Dean tries to pull away but fails. Instead he's grabbed by the waist and lifted up into the air with an actual growl. He gasps and clutches desperately at his brother to keep from falling. It's still so strange to know that his Sammy could ever turn into something like this, and Dean doesn't like how small and weak he feels in comparison.

They're across the room in three long strides and Dean is dropped onto the bed. Dean's heart pounds as his brother crawls up next to him. He's not actually sure if he can give Sam everything he might want. Dean's t-shirt is yanked off and his boxers are torn away and he shivers. Hands and mouth touch his face for a moment, gently, like Dean's a baby, and then his brother leans down and swallows Dean's dick.

It is nothing like the one brief, unsuccessful attempt at this Dean's gotten from a girl. It's a million times better. Huge hands pin Dean down and he's sucked hard and rough, with tight lips and tongue and teeth and so much hot wet pressure. His brother seems to know exactly what Dean will want even though Dean has no idea himself.

Fuck, of course he does, he's probably done it to Dean so many times later.

Dean runs his hands through greasy hair and reaches inside the stiff jacket, past two shirts and the cord around his brother's neck, trying to get at his skin. He wants Sam to be naked, wants to see and touch that body. He knows he's babbling something but he can't pay attention to what.

This is the best, most amazing thing ever, and it goes on for ages but then is over far too soon, all the pleasure gathering up and exploding. Dean trembles, still feeling waves and aftershocks of it as he continues to be sucked, until it hurts and he has to shove out to be released.

His brother curls up around him, a warm cover, and buries his face in Dean's neck. He doesn't bite this time. Dean strokes his head and tries to relax. He knows better than to ask questions, especially when he won't get an answer, but he has to say it.

"Sam. How did I die?"

He just shakes his head and lies down on top of Dean again. Dean doesn't bother asking anything else. He wants his little Sammy back, to check over him and make sure he's okay, but he also wants to keep this Sam, protect him and make him happy.

All Dean can do is hold on to Sam and give him this one last thing. He shuts his eyes and starts counting down to when his brother will be alone.


End file.
